


James Black and the philosophers stone

by itzel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 02:26:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itzel/pseuds/itzel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Rule #1, never trust the greasey monkey. Rule #2, don't call Hermione, Herms or Hermy.<br/>And rule number..... actually that's it.<br/>Oh, wait Rule #3, always fallow rule #1."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. SORRY,

SORRY, WILL POST FIRST CHAPTER SOON.  



	2. Chapter one

The children who lived

Mr. And Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so muchif her time craningover garden fences, spying on neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.

The Dursleys had everything they had ever wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't think they could bear if anybody found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they haven't met in several years, infact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good - for - nothing husband were unDursleyish as possible. The Dursleys shudder to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived on the street. The Dursleys knew the Potters had a small son, too, but they had never seen him. The boy was another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with a child like that.

When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on a full, grey Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked our his most boring tie for work, and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into hid high chair.

None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window.

At half past eight, Mr. Dursley Picked up his briefcase, pecked his wife on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley good - byebut missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls. "little tyke," Mr. Dursley chortled as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out backed out of number four's drive way. It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar - a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't realize what he saw - then he jerked his head around to look again. 

There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of privet drive, but there was no map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must of been the trick of the light. Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley Drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive - no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read signs or maps. Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. 

As he drove towards townhe thought of nothing expect a large order of drills he was hoping to get today. Buton the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help but notice that ther seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes - the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fells on a hudlle of those weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why that man had to be older than he is, wearing a emrald - green cloak! The nerve of him! But then itstruck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt -- these people were obviously collecting forsomething... Yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in theGrunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills. 

Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he mighthave found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owls swoop ing past in broaddaylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed openmouthed as owl after owlsped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime. Mr. Dursley, however, had aperfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. 

He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery. He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch were whisperingexcitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. 

It was on his way back past them, clutching a largedoughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying," The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard yes, their son, Harry, and the Black girl, James," Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to saysomething to them, but thought better of it. He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He putthe receiver back down and stroked his mustache, thinking....No, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't suchan unusual name. 

He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a son called Harry. Come tothink of it, he wasn't even sure his nephew was called Harry. He'd never even seen the boy. It might havebeen Harvey. Or Harold. And didn't know a thing about that girl, what was her name? Right James. There was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always got so upset at anymention of her sister. He didn't blame her -- if he'd had a sister like that... But all the same, those people incloaks... He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon and when he left the building at fiveo'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door. 

"Sorry, " he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almostknocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice thatmade passersby stare, "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!" And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off. Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought hehad been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination. 

As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw -- and it didn't improve his mood --was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. 

He was sure it was thesame one; it had the same markings around its eyes. "Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly. The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal catbehavior? Mr. Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was stilldetermined not to mention anything to his wife. Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door's problemswith her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word ("Won't!"). Mr. Dursley tried to act normally.

 When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report on theevening news: "And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving veryunusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there havebeen hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable toexplain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern. " The newscaster allowed himself agrin. 

"Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers ofowls tonight, Jim?" 

"Well, Ted, " said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have beenacting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, have been phoning in to tell methat instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps peoplehave been celebrating Bonfire Night early -- it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet nighttonight." Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysteriouspeople in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters... Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. 

He'd have to saysomething to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er -- Petunia, dear -- you haven't heard from yoursister lately, have you?" As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn'thave a sister. 

"No, " she said sharply. "Why?" 

"Funny stuff on the news, " Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls... Shooting stars... And there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today... " 

"So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley. "Well, I just thought... Maybe... It was something to do with... You know... Her crowd. " Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he'dheard the name "Potter. " 

He decided he didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could, "Their son -he'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't he?" 

"I suppose so, " said Mrs. Dursley stiffly. "What's his name again? Howard, isn't it?" 

"Harry. Nasty, common name, if you ask me. " "Oh, yes, " said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree." He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there. It was staring down Privet Drive as though it were waiting for something.

 Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did... If it got out thatthey were related to a pair of - well, he didn't think he could bear it. The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr. Dursley lay awake, turning it all over inhis mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs. Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he andPetunia thought about them and their kind.... 

He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up inanything that might be going on -- he yawned and turned over -- it couldn't affect them.... How very wrong he was. Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showingno sign of sleepiness. 

It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of PrivetDrive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owlsswooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all. 

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd havethought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed. Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by thesilver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, andsparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had beenbroken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore. Albus 

Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from hisname to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring athim from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known." He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flickedit open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked itagain -- the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watchinghim. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able tosee anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back insidehis cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. 

He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it. "Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall." He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-lookingwoman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She lookeddistinctly ruffled. 

"How did you know it was me?" she asked. "My dear Professor, I 've never seen a cat sit so stiffly. " "You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day, " said Professor McGonagall.

 "All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on myway here. "Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily. "Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right, " she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no -- even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news. " She jerked her headback at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls... Shooting stars.... Well, they'renot completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent -- I'll bet thatwas Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense. " 

"You can't blame them, " said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for elevenyears. " 

"I know that, " said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People arebeing downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors. "She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell hersomething, but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day YouKnow-Who seemsto have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?" 

"It certainly seems so, " said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemondrop?" 

"A what?" 

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of" 

"No, thank you, " said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment forlemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone -" 

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense -- for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name:Voldemort. " Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who. ' I have never seen anyreason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name." 

"I know you haven 't, " said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you'redifferent. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know-who, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of. " 

"You flatter me, " said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have. " 

"Only because you're too - well - noble to use them. " 

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs. " Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to therumors that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? Aboutwhat finally stopped him?" It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the realreason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixedDumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosinganother lemon drop and did not answer.

 "What they're saying, " she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter and Natasha Black are - are - that they're - dead." Dumbledorebowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped. "Lily and James and Natasha... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it... Oh, Albus..." Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. 

"I know... I know... " he said heavily. Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's son, Harry and the Black's daughter, James.. But - he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy and girl. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter and James Black, Voldemort's power somehow broke -- and that's why he's gone." Dumbledore nodded glumly. 

"It's - it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done... All the people he's killed... He couldn't kill a little boy and girl? It's just astounding... Of all the things to stop him... But how in the name of heavendid Harry and James survive?" 

"We can only guess, " said Dumbledore. "We may never know. " professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a veryodd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. Itmust have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid'slate. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?" 

"Yes, " said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of allplaces?" 

"I've come to bring Harry and James to Harry's aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now. "

"You don't mean -you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping toher feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore - you can't. I've been watching them all day. Youcouldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son - I saw him kicking his mother allthe way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter and James Black come and live here!"

 "It's the best place for him, " said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a letter. "

 "A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand them! They'll be famous - a legend - I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter and James Black day in the future - there will bebooks written about Harry and James- every child in our world will know their name!"

 "Exactly, " said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would beenough to turn any childs head. Famous before they can walk and talk! Famous for something they won't even remember! Cant you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all that until he's ready to take it?" Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes - yes, you're right, of course. But how is the boy getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly asthough she thought he might be hiding Harry underneath it. "Hagrid's bringing him. " 

"You think it - wise - to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

 "I would trust Hagrid with my life, " said Dumbledore. "I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place, " said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can'tpretend he's not careless. He does tend to - what was that?" 

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up anddown the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky - and ahuge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them. If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as anormal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild -- longtangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and hisfeet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle ofblankets. "Hagrid, " said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?" 

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir, " said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as hespoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir. " 

"No problems, were there?" 

"No, sir - house was almost destroyed, but I got them out all right before the Muggles started swarmin'around.little they fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol." Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep with his arms around a baby girl . Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shapedcut, like a bolt of lightning. The same cut was on the girls wrist. Unoticed by them. 

"Is that where -?" whispered Professor McGonagall. "Yes, " said Dumbledore. "he'll have that scar forever. "

 "Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

 "Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is aperfect map of the London Underground. Well - give them here, Hagrid - we'd better get this over with. "Dumbledore took them in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house. "

"Could I - could I say good-bye to them, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. The same with james. 

Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like awounded dog. "Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "you'll wake the Muggles!" 

"S-s-sorry, " sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it - Lily an' James an' Natasha dead - an' poor little Harry and james off ter live with Muggles - " 

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found, " Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall andwalked to the front door. He laid them gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked itinside Harry's blankets, and then came back to the other two. 

For a full minute the three of them stoodand looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and thetwinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out. 

"Well, " said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and jointhe celebrations. " 

"Yeah, " said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, ProfessorMcGonagall - Professor Dumbledore, sir. "Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked theengine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night. "I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall, " said Dumbledore, nodding to her. ProfessorMcGonagall blew her nose in reply. 

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silverPut-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end ofthe street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four. "Good luck, Harry and James, " he murmured. 

He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone. A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very lastplace you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeksbeing prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley... He couldn't know that at this very moment, peoplemeeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry potter and James Black - the children who lived"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its my first story so sorry if it's bad:)


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